


The Language of Flowers

by ellie-nors (flamewarrior)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Flowers, Fluff, Humor, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Peggy still has balls of steel even though she's dead, Pining, Schmoop, So many flowers, Some swear words, angst becomes fluff, fluff becomes schmoop, schmoop becomes humor, seriously: all the flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 07:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewarrior/pseuds/ellie-nors
Summary: Steve woos Bucky with flowers. That's it. That's the fic.





	The Language of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravingliberal (raving_liberal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/gifts).



> Happy Happies, raving_liberal!
> 
> This fic is set post-Civil War, in a universe in which Infinity War doesn’t happen. I have hand-waved the Accords, and whatever happened in this universe to heal the rift between Steve and Tony.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH to my wonderful beta, [seapigeon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapigeon), who did an _amazing_ job. You are so great. SO GREAT. Any remaining errors are all mine.
> 
> See the endnotes for a full list of flower meanings. Same list but with images is at my [Dreamwidth account](https://ellie-nors.dreamwidth.org/236640.html).

“What the hell, Steve? _What. The. Hell?!_ ”

“Hello to you, too, Tony,” Steve replied, ducking back from the flowers Tony was brandishing at him, even though logically he knew they couldn’t touch him through the screen of his StarkPhone.

Tony ignored him.

“Why is the Tin Man sending me flowers? Are you not satisfying him any more? Has all the romance gone from your relationship? What?!”

Steve grimaced. If only…

“What are you talking about, Tony? Slow down. Deep breaths, now. Come on. You can do it.”

Tony glared at him, as Steve’s patronising tone cut through his flummoxed monologue. He did, in fact, take a deep breath.

“Okay,” he started again, “monosyllables. Or, well, whatever.” He pointed his finger accusingly at Steve. “Your boyfriend has sent me a bunch of flowers. Is this a 1940s thing? One of those surprisingly sensitive New Age aspects of Old Timey masculinity? Like men wearing pink and holding each other’s hands in public?”

Steve suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and deny the ‘boyfriend’ comment; it only made Tony worse. “What flowers are they?” he asked.

“What do you mean, what flowers?” Tony exclaimed, waving the flowers in the camera again. “I don’t know. Flowers! I’m not a botanist.”

Steve sighed. “Hold them still in front of the camera.”

Tony’s eyebrows scrunched together, but he did as he was told. Steve saw purple hyacinths and bright yellow sunflowers waving gently on his screen. Could it be? Huh, of all the things for Bucky to remember.

“It’s a message.” Tony’s look became even more perplexed. “It says, ‘I am truly sorry. Please forgive me. You have my loyalty and good wishes.’”

“It does?” asked Tony. “How?!”

“Language of flowers, Tony,” replied Steve, smiling gently as one of the better parts of his childhood came back to him. “Bucky’s ma was obsessed with it. She always roped Bucky and me into helping her make bouquets, for birthdays and anniversaries and grave blankets and all, when we were small.”

“And he remembers that?” Tony looked skeptical. He also looked like he was mouthing ‘grave blankets’ to himself in puzzlement.

Steve looked down at his fingers for a moment. He swallowed, and his voice was quiet when he spoke. “Bucky remembers everything, Tony. In exact detail.”

It was one of the few things he had been able, or willing, to tell Steve, about the time between his fall from the plane and when Steve found him in that apartment in Bucharest. That he remembered it all: every action he took as The Winter Soldier, HYDRA’s weapon. It was why he couldn’t accept Steve’s easy forgiveness, why he in turn both accepted and understood Tony’s attempt to kill him in Siberia. 

Bucky knew he’d been brainwashed, knew his own will had been completely bypassed, that he had had no real choice. But, as he had said to Steve on the Quinjet, it was still him that did it: he had the memories to prove it. It had taken Steve a long time to stop arguing with him about it, to stop trying to convince Bucky that, even so, he didn’t bear the responsibility. In the end the only reason he dropped it was because arguing about it made Bucky so miserable.

“Huh.” Tony’s voice was soft, but it brought Steve back to the here and now. “I thought he just said that to wind me up.”

“No, Tony. Really not.” Steve replied, saddened all over again that Bucky’s simple honesty had been taken as a jibe.

“But still, why the flowers? Why not just write me a note? Or, you know, have a conversation?”

Steve raised his eyebrows at Tony through the camera.

“Yeah, okay, that would be kinda difficult with me refusing to see him. True. But flowers? Really?”

Steve pondered for a moment, wondering how much to tell Tony. He nodded to himself, decision made: too much heartache had been caused by keeping things secret that didn’t need to be. 

“He was putting together a bouquet for your parents’ grave. I guess he figured he’d send some to you while he was at it. He’s not so good with words, these days,” he said, figuring that was explanation enough.

He saw Tony’s jaw go slack on the screen, noticed a slight hardening around his eyes.

“So, what did the flowers to my parents say,” he said. 

Steve hoped he was imagining the sneer underlying the words. He closed his eyes for a moment, then made his decision. “The bouquet was made up of purple hyacinths, dark crimson tea roses, aloe vera flowers and flowering rosemary. It said, ‘I remember, and I will always remember. I mourn and grieve you deeply. I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me.’”

He felt uncomfortable sharing something so personal of Bucky’s, something that was between him and Howard and Maria. But he figured it was better coming from him than Tony looking up the meanings and getting it wrong, or, God forbid, confronting Bucky about it directly.

On the screen, Tony pulled down his chin, a disbelieving look on his face; before he could say anything, Steve continued, urgency in his voice: 

“What you have to remember, Tony, is that Bucky and Howard were friends. Not for long, I grant you, but he’d hang out in Howard’s lab at the SSR whenever we were back in London, and Howard would explain things to him as he worked. Bucky was smart enough to keep up, most of the time. He used to give me a blow by blow account back in our quarters afterwards, excited like a little kid at the technology. And I think Howard liked the audience.” 

Steve couldn’t decipher the emotions passing over Tony’s face as he talked. All he could tell was that they were painful. He kept going anyway: this might be the only time he and Tony actually talked about this, and it was for Bucky. Steve had always known he would do anything for Bucky. 

“So when HYDRA sent him after Howard and Maria, after your parents,” he continued, keeping his voice steady, implacable, “they either didn’t know who Bucky was, or there was someone there with a really sick sense of irony. And given that we know the head of HYDRA’s Winter Soldier operations in the USA by that time was Alexander Pierce, my betting is on the latter.”

Tony looked gutted for a moment, like he hadn’t made that connection himself, or maybe had been avoiding thinking of it altogether. Then the call came to an abrupt end, and Steve was looking at a dark screen.

Steve sighed to himself. He hoped he’d done the right thing.

\--

It turned out, he had. Or at least he hoped that was what the dinner invitation that arrived in his mailbox three days later meant. It was addressed to the both of them, him and Bucky, after all.

The evening was a little awkward at first, but Pepper smoothed over the fidgety silences like the excellent hostess she was, and by the end of the evening, Tony had invited Bucky to come over to his lab, to show him some of his latest “tinkering in robotics”. Bucky had smiled shyly, eyes wide, and agreed, even after Tony had added an “and maybe I can get a look at that Wakandan beauty attached to you, huh?”

Bucky came home looking quietly pleased, and maybe a little in awe at Tony’s overture of friendship.

“I guess the flowers worked,” was all he said before he turned in for the night.

\--

_I guess the flowers worked._

Bucky’s words stayed with Steve as he drifted into sleep that night, and accompanied him as he went about his day for the whole of the next week. Hot on their heels came a thought of Steve’s own: _if they worked for Bucky with Tony, maybe they could work for me with Bucky?_

It wasn’t that Steve was unhappy with their life. Just to have Bucky under the same roof as him, to know that he was safe and warm and well, was more than Steve had dared to hope for just a couple of years ago. But he wanted so much more. He wasn’t going to compare having Bucky with him, so close, but not nearly close enough, to torture (Steve knew too much about what torture really was for that), but the wanting was a constant ache in Steve’s heart.

If all he ever got was living under the same roof with Bucky, like they had before the war, Steve would take it with both hands and run. But sometimes, he would catch a glimpse of a look on Bucky’s face, fond and longing -- when Steve woke from a nap, or started shouting at politicians on the television, or walked out of the bathroom with just a towel around his hips -- that made him wonder whether Bucky might want more, too.

He was beginning to feel it was worth the risk of asking, but he was almost as bad with words as Bucky was, especially around Bucky.

Maybe, maybe, flowers could work where he was sure his words would fail.

\--

Steve planned out his first flowers for Bucky carefully. He chose camellias (‘I admire you. You’re perfect in my eyes.’), red carnations (‘My heart aches for you. I admire you.’), daisies (‘You’re innocent in my eyes.’), and eucalyptus flowers (‘We protect one another’). The florist he went to took a while to get hold of the eucalyptus flowers, and he waited impatiently over the intervening days. 

Finally, the text arrived that told him the bouquet was ready. He waited until Bucky was engrossed in a novel before heading out to collect it.

“I’m just going for a stroll, Buck,” he said to Bucky’s bent head and neck. A grunt was all the reply he got.

When he returned, half an hour later, Bucky was curled up on the couch, asleep. Steve felt his heart clench with fondness. He left the flowers on the coffee table, where Bucky would see them when he woke up, and tiptoed into his own room, pleased with his day’s work.

\--

Three days later, when he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Bucky, nor of the flowers, Steve was feeling decidedly less pleased. In fact, he was feeling downright nervous.

Bucky went quiet sometimes, not speaking for days at a time. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, but he’d never outright avoided Steve before. And there was no doubt that that was what was happening now. When Steve entered a room, Bucky left it. When Steve spoke to him, he got no reply. When Steve knocked on Bucky’s door to let him know food was ready, or that he was going out for a run, the silence that met him from the other side of the door was a very deliberate one.

On the morning of the fourth day, he still hadn’t seen or heard anything from Bucky, but there was a bunch of flowers on the bed next to him when he woke up: carnations, both yellow ones and ones with red and white stripes, and petunias. Steve scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, then got out of bed and carried the flowers into the kitchen, where he started the coffee maker.

Once he’d drunk half of his first mug of coffee, he took a closer look at the bouquet. Yellow carnations meant rejection and disdain; that was clear enough. But the striped carnations and the petunias were just… confusing. Striped carnations could mean a straight up no of refusal, but they could also mean ‘I’m sorry I can’t be with you,’ or ‘I wish I could be with you’. Petunias might be a message of anger and resentment, but they might also indicate ‘Your presence soothes me.’

Which was it?

Steve sighed in frustration, but got out the kitchen scissors and a vase to get the flowers in water anyhow: they were pretty, even if they weren’t the message he’d wanted. 

As he cut the flowers free of their wrapping, he noticed a small card with neat printing on it. It read, _Don’t you dare pity me._

Oh shit. Oh, shit. 

How on earth had he gotten it so wrong? Was he not remembering the meanings correctly? Steve went back through the flowers he had sent in his mind, trying to figure out what message Bucky had read into them to provoke this response. Camellias meant admiration and perfection, but they could also mean ‘good luck’ or simply, a gift for a man. That was neutral enough, even if Bucky had taken one of the meanings Steve hadn’t intended. 

So, it must have been one of the other flowers. The red carnations: ‘My heart aches for you.’ Could Bucky have thought Steve meant his heart ached in pity? Daisy for innocence had seemed simple enough to Steve, but on reflection, Bucky might have taken them as restarting their argument over whether or not he was responsible for his actions under HYDRA. And what if Bucky had taken the eucalyptus to mean that Steve thought he needed protection, rather than that they had always protected one another?

Steve lowered his head to the kitchen counter and groaned. What a mess.

Okay. He could be smart about this.

Steve finished arranging the flowers in the vase and put them on the dining table, scribbled a quick note ( _That’s not what I meant!_ ) which he left wedged under the vase, then rushed through his morning routine and was at the florists within ten minutes.

This time, he wasn’t going to get flowers that were in any way ambiguous. He would order purple hyacinth and sunflower, borage (courage), bay leaves (strength), and bird of paradise (magnificence). There was no way Bucky could mistake his meaning this time. 

When the flowers he ordered finally arrived a week later, he left them outside Bucky’s door, quietly hopeful.

\--

The next morning, Steve was woken by Bucky bursting into his room, flowers in hand, still dressed in pajamas.

“Mnuh?” said Steve.

Bucky sat down on the bed, in the curve of space at Steve’s side, and thrust the flowers into Steve’s face. 

“So, okay punk, what did you mean this time?” Bucky asked, looking embarrassed.

Steve maneuvered himself up to sit with his back against the headrest of his bed, and touched the flowers gently one by one, giving their meanings as he did so. 

“You’re strong, courageous, magnificent, and loyal. I’m loyal to you, and I’m really, really sorry I wasn’t clearer with my flower choices last time.” Steve raised his eyes from the flowers to Bucky’s face, where he saw that a gentle blush had risen on both his cheeks. He smiled to himself at the effect of his compliments. “I’ve never pitied you, Bucky.”

“Well,” Bucky said after a moment, looking down at the flowers awkwardly, “okay then.”

He got straight back up and walked out of the room, flowers still in hand. Steve got out of bed and followed him, anxious as to what he would do next. But it turned out he was just getting their second vase out of a cupboard. Steve relaxed against the door jamb of his room and watched as Bucky unwrapped the flowers, carefully cut the stems, and arranged the flowers in the vase, before adding water and the contents of the little packet of flower food that the florist had packed with them. Then he went through into the sitting room and placed the vase in pride of place in the centre of the coffee table.

Bucky noticed Steve, and raised an eyebrow at him as he straightened up. 

“What?” 

Bucky’s voice held a challenge, but Steve could tell it was more mild embarrassment than anything else. 

“I’m just glad my message was received clearly this time,” he said, and smiled.

After a brief moment, Bucky smiled back.

\--

A few days later, they were reading on the couch together after dinner, a Sibelius symphony on the radio. Bucky gently cleared his throat, and Steve looked up from his Avengers briefing to see him carefully marking his place, and closing his book.

“What did the bouquet mean, the first one you got me?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, and his eyes remained on his book.

Steve shuffled the papers of his briefing together and put them on the coffee table, next to the vase where the bay, bird of paradise, borage, sunflower and hyacinth were still glossy and bright. He cleared his throat, turned to face Bucky, and said, “It meant, ‘I admire you so, so much. You’re innocent and perfect in my eyes. My heart aches to be with you. We protect one another’” 

Bucky looked up at him then, a faint blush once again appearing high on his cheekbones. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and he closed it again. He licked his lips, a thoughtful frown on his brow as his eyes searched Steve’s face.

Eventually, he said, “Okay. Okay,” quietly, as if to himself.

As he moved to open his book again, Steve asked him, “And the bouquet you got me, I…,” he swallowed, and tried again. “It confused me. It could have meant two completely different things.” 

Bucky’s lips turned up in a wry smile; he scoffed gently and watched his own fingers as he ran them over the cover of his book. “What did you expect, Rogers? You got me all shook up.”

Then Bucky reached out and squeezed Steve’s left hand briefly with his right, then took himself and his book off to his bedroom. A quiet, “Night, Steve,” drifted out after him just before he closed the door.

Steve stayed on the couch for a good half hour by himself, trying not to latch on too hard to the hope that had begun to bud in his chest.

\--

The next day, Steve woke with a smile on his face, and hummed his way around the bathroom as he showered and brushed his teeth, around his bedroom as he got dressed, around the kitchen as he made coffee. Then he saw the note Bucky had left for him on the dining table.

The note read, _Gone to DC for a few days. Nothing bad, promise. See you soon. JBB P.S. Address in your StarkPhone. P.P.S. Texting is also a thing._

Steve smiled a little to himself at how well Bucky knew him, but he also felt confused at what on earth he could need to do in DC. He had flatly refused to join the Avengers, or be sent on missions by SHIELD, or any other agency; King T’Challa had seen to it that it was written into Bucky’s official pardon from the US government. So why DC? And why now?

Steve sighed, and reminded himself that Bucky was allowed privacy, and it wasn’t like he’d dropped off the map -- not like before. He went back to his bedroom to check his phone, and sure enough, there was a text from Bucky from 5am this morning, with an address in Washington, DC. He shot a quick _Thanks for letting me know. Call on me if you need anything. And I mean anything._ back, then walked back through to the sitting room, where the half-read Avengers briefing was still lying on the coffee table.

His eyes caught on the flowers as he sat down. Huh. He might miss Bucky while he was away, but there were opportunities in this situation. They had florists in Washington, too, didn’t they? And a plan started to form in his mind.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Bucky rolled up to the row house he’d booked for the week, it was heading towards 11am. He stopped by the curb and put the hatchback into park. The drive would have been more enjoyable on his motorcycle, but the bike itself would have stuck out like a sore thumb in this quiet neighbourhood.

He pulled his backpack off the passenger seat, got out of the car, and looked at the place: a narrow, stone-built house, with two stories and a cute front yard. Even the iron security grilles over the door and windows looked classy, matching the low fencing that ran the boundary of the yard and surrounded the tiny porch seating area. 

He walked up the path and opened the doors, dropped his bag inside, and locked up again. He’d come here for a reason, and that reason was only a five minute walk away. He could settle in once he’d begun to set his heart at ease.

\--

“Hey, Pegs.” Bucky’s voice was quiet, intimate. He touched Peggy’s gravestone tentatively with his fingertips. Her grave was well-tended, neat and trim, with a beautiful bouquet of freesias and white roses in the stone vase that formed part of the gravestone itself. Sharon, still looking after her aunt, Bucky guessed.

“I’m sorry I waited so long to come see you.” Bucky waited a moment. It wasn’t that he expected an answer, just that it seemed rude to barrel on with what he wanted to say. He wished he’d thought to bring a gift.

“You woke me up, you know that?” Bucky said, startling himself with his honesty. “If you hadn’t walked into Steve’s life, if I hadn’t seen how he reacted to you, I never would have stopped deluding myself about how I felt for him.”

Bucky paused again, closing his eyes for a moment, and remembering: the curdling bitterness that had churned in his gut when he’d seen how Steve and Peggy looked at one another when they’d all finally made it back from Azzano; the heart-thumping jealousy he’d felt in that pub in London when Peggy had walked into the bar in that red dress; the chasm that had opened up in his chest and dropped into his stomach when he’d seen how Steve and Peggy had only had eyes for one another that night. And it had all been made so much worse by how much he’d liked Peggy, how well they’d got on, once he got to know her; how perfect he could see she would have been for Steve.

All water under the bridge now, but the memories remained.

“The thing is, Pegs, even though I think I’ve got a chance with him now, I’m too much of a coward to take it. Part of me thinks it’s because I don’t deserve it, after what I did, what HYDRA made me do. But another part of me knows that’s bullshit. What has love ever had to do with deserving?”

He opened his eyes and moved down to rest on his haunches, ran his right hand over Peggy’s name on the stone: _Margaret Elizabeth Carter_. He smiled to himself, remembering Peggy’s brilliance, her determination, her indomitable spirit.

“I need some of your balls, Pegs. Think you can lend ‘em to me for a while?”

\--

Rather than going straight back to the house, he meandered his way around the area a little, not wanting to be closed in by four walls just yet. Eventually, he stopped off at a grocery store and picked up supplies for the week, and returned to the house to make himself lunch. Just as he was finishing his soup and sandwich, the doorbell rang.

What the fuck? Had Steve got it into his fool head to follow Bucky down here? Jeez, Stevie. Give a guy some space. 

However, when Bucky got to the front door and looked through the peep hole, he saw not Steve, but some dark-skinned guy in a dark green apron with _Surroundings: Bringing the best of nature to your surroundings_ embroidered on the front in cream thread. His well-justified paranoia still had him opening the door with a hand on the pistol at the small of his back, but when he finally held the door open, the guy just offered him a bag (also green, and printed with the same text), with fern fronds sticking out of the top.

“Delivery for you, Mr. Barnes,” the guy said, smiling pleasantly.

“Er, thanks,” said Bucky, and took the bag from him.

“Have a nice day now,” the guy replied, turned and walked back up the path through the front yard.

Bucky turned back into the hallway and kicked the door shut behind him. He’d have preferred to check the delivery in a safer location, where there would be less likelihood of bystander casualties if this was a ploy to get an explosive device to him, but he was where he was, and the front hall would have to do.

He took out his phone and turned on the flashlight to do a detailed examination of the bag and its contents; as he did so, he noticed that he had a text from Steve: _Don’t panic, it’s from me_. Bucky slumped against the wall and held his breath for a moment before blowing it out through pursed lips. Goddammit, Stevie!

He stomped out his frustration en route to the kitchen -- the kind of emotional indulgence he only allowed himself when he knew he was alone. Once there, he set the bag down on the counter and gently lifted out the contents. It was a simple floral arrangement: pale pink moss rosebuds and delicate forget-me-nots, surrounded by robust fern leaves.

Wow.

Steve really wasn’t beating about the bush this time: confessions of true love, based on memories, with an emphasis on the sender’s absolute sincerity. Could it be true? Was this all an elaborate joke? But no, Bucky knew that Steve would never play with his emotions like that. He ran his finger lightly over the lobed ends of the fern leaves: absolute sincerity. Its inclusion was reassuring.

But how on earth to respond? 

Bucky took his time with preparing and arranging the bouquet, pondering as he did so. In the end, he could only think of one possible response. He dug out his phone, opened Steve’s last text message, and typed back, _Um… Really?_

Steve’s response was almost immediate: _[eyeroll emoji] I see I gotta convince you. Can do. [winking face emoji]_

Bucky smiled bashfully to himself, and felt the blush rise on his cheeks. Okay then.

\--

The next few days fell into a pattern: in the morning, Bucky would drink his coffee, walk to the cemetery, and say hi to Peggy. He talked himself backward and forward about saying yes to Steve’s declaration. He asked Peggy’s forgiveness, her permission, her advice. She of course remained silent. 

As lunchtime rolled around, he would go back to the rented house, and shortly after, the same guy would arrive with a fresh bouquet. Bucky would send a text to Steve, and spend his afternoon and evening fixing food and catching up on his Netflix queue.

The flowers, though - they were something else.

The second bouquet that arrived, Steve’s first attempt at convincing Bucky, was an overflowing, gaudy combination of acacia, anemone and gladioli: ‘I fell in love with you at first sight. I kept it secret, but it’s never faded.’

Bucky knew his whole face had to be flaming after he deciphered that one. He didn’t even have to think twice before sending his text to Steve.

JBB [13.38]: _We met when we were 8 years old, ya mook!_

Stevie [13.42]: _Yep._

JBB [13.45]: _You are completely unbelievable._

Stevie [13.48]: _You’ll believe me eventually._

JBB [13.52]: _[eyeroll emoji]_

And sure enough, the next day’s bouquet was two dozen bright red tulips. 

JBB [13.41]: _Okay, okay, I believe you. You’re declaring your love for me. [eyeroll emoji] ← my eyes are rolling out of my damned head_

Stevie [13.48]: _[hearteye emoji] [laughter emoji] [hearteye emoji] [laughter emoji] [hearteye emoji] [laughter emoji] [hearteye emoji]_

Bucky really did roll his eyes at that response.

The next day, though, he found himself looking forward to the florist’s delivery, and made his visit to Peggy’s grave a brief one, just long enough to say a heartfelt thank you, and leave a bouquet of two dozen roses, each rose a different shade, in full bloom. He strode back to the house, fifty bucks ready in his pocket to tip the delivery guy.

When the moment came, Bucky handed over the fifty, and was rewarded with a broad, bright grin, and a, “Thanks, man,” as well as the biggest bag the guy had delivered yet. When he unwrapped it and saw what it was, his breath caught. The bouquet was stunning. A dozen red and a dozen pink roses, interspersed with soft pine boughs with blue violets twined through them.

With them was a card with a message printed on it: _It doesn’t mean pity, jerk. ;-)_

Oh my God! Tears rose to Bucky’s eyes at the same moment he let loose a ‘Ha!’ of delight and relief. No-one but Steve would pair the sincere message of the flowers with the affectionate insult on the card. And what a message: ‘I love you. I’ll always be true and faithful. Please believe me. I hope for perfect happiness with you.’

And okay, maybe Bucky was elaborating with wishful thinking a little bit with his interpretation, but he didn’t think he was far off.

All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to be back in Brooklyn with Steve. He dashed up the stairs, flung the few clothes and the laptop he’d brought with him into his backpack, and dashed back downstairs again, pausing on his way out the door only to pick up the flowers Steve had sent him over the past few days and put them all in the huge bag that had arrived that day. 

He shut the door and locked up behind himself, posted the house keys through the mailbox, and strode swiftly to the car. His backpack went on the passenger seat, and the bag of flowers securely in the passenger foot well. Bucky glanced at the clock on the dash as he started the engine: 12.30pm. He paused, hands on the steering wheel, and thought for a moment. Yes, if he called ahead, he should have just enough time.

\--

Bucky stood outside the door to his and Steve’s apartment, nervously shifting from foot to foot. He was well aware he was being more than faintly ridiculous, but he wanted to do this right. He knocked on the door again: shave and a haircut, two bits. This time, he heard sounds of movement from inside, and a few seconds later, after what sounded like a minor disagreement with the security bolts, Steve opened the door.

Bucky didn’t know what to say -- all his words had flown straight out of his head -- so he thrust the bouquet of flowers in his right hand towards Steve, and hoped for the best.

Steve rubbed his eyes with the back of his left hand, his right still holding the door open, and blinked, looking for all the world like he’d just woken up.

“Have you just woken up?” asked Bucky, then winced to himself.

“Yeah, I…” Steve paused and looked at the flowers, and up at Bucky’s face, and at the flowers again, as if he’d just that moment noticed them. “Are these for me?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Yeah,” replied Bucky, his own voice barely a whisper. He cleared his throat. “They’re for you.” He paused, feeling awkward. “From me,” he added, unnecessarily.

Steve reached his hand out slowly for the bouquet, resting his hand over Bucky’s, so that they were holding it together. He pulled gently, and Bucky stepped forward over the threshold and into their apartment. Steve shut the door softly behind them.

“Does this mean… Do these mean what I think they do?” he asked softly, squeezing his hand gently around Bucky’s, his eyes gazing into Bucky’s searchingly.

“They mean… I mean... ,” Bucky swallowed, and tried again. He looked at the flowers, to keep the words he wanted on his tongue: ambrosia, jonquil and red roses. “I love you. I love you back. I want us to keep loving each other.”

He risked raising his eyes back up to Steve’s face, and saw a look of such soft longing there that it felt like his heart stopped, before starting up again double time. Bucky took a deep breath, remembering his conversations with Peggy at her graveside, and asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah, Bucky. Yes. Yes, please,” was Steve’s reply, and then they were leaning towards one another, over the flowers clasped in their joined hands.

As their lips met, and parted, and met again, as their tongues touched, and they wrapped their free arms around one another, the only thought in Bucky’s head was an echo of Steve’s: _Yes. Yes, please. This, forever._

\--

A month after Bucky’s return from DC, he and Steve were out walking around Brooklyn, just for the pleasure of it: the people, the cars, the noise, the ridiculous business names.

“Oh, look,” said Steve out of nowhere, “there’s a florist shop. Let’s go in and take a look.”

His delivery sounded decidedly rehearsed to Bucky’s ear. Suspicious, but willing, Bucky looked up at the shop name. _Dutchess & Park_. Another one to add to his list of ‘Ridiculous things in 21st century Brooklyn’ list.

Bucky followed Steve into the shop. It was pleasant enough, if a little overdone, with little crowns at the edges of all the displays, and collages of deer and trees on the few bare wall spaces between the shelves of flowers and greenery. 

He noticed Steve raise a hand to the person behind the counter.

“Why are we really here, Steve?” asked Bucky in a flat voice.

“Huh?” replied Steve, a transparently attempting-to-look-innocent expression on his face.

Bucky squinted at him, then when the shop assistant came out to Steve holding a huge bouquet, he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Steve took the bouquet from the assistant with a quiet “Thank you”, then got down on one knee in the middle of the cramped shop, and offered the bouquet up to Bucky.

Bucky covered his face with his hands, with a muttered, “Oh my God, you punk.”

When he had taken enough fortifying breaths to uncover his face again and look at Steve, Steve had the biggest grin on his face that Bucky had ever seen there.

“What is this?” asked Bucky, knowing full well what it was. The flowers Steve was holding out to him said it all: spider flowers, stephanotis, white violets and viscaria. Bucky snorted as he saw the viscaria. “You’ve learned to dance?” he asked, with some skepticism.

Steve blushed at that, and replied, eyes wide and earnest as he gazed lovingly up at Bucky, “I’ll learn to dance for you.”

“Lord, give me strength,” whispered Bucky, looking up towards the heavens, and sighed.

He looked around the tiny shop, and spotted what he needed, just behind him and to his left. He reached into the bucket there, then knelt down in front of Steve, and hit him over the head with the single, deep purple carnation he’d picked out of the bucket.

“Yes, you absolute asshole,” he said, punctuating his words with slaps to Steve’s face with the carnation. “Yes, I will run away with you and get married and live happily ever after.”

Steve’s grin turned into a laugh as he fended off Bucky’s flowery attack, and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, the bouquet he still held brushing against the back of Bucky’s head.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into Bucky’s ear, all sincerity again.

“I love you too,” Bucky whispered back, not sure if his words had been heard, but sure that their meaning had been received by the way Steve held onto him even tighter. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Epilogue**

They did elope -- just as far as Stamford CT, which was the closest place that had no waiting period for a marriage license. 

Of course, Natasha found out where they were going, even though they hadn’t told a single soul. But hey, Bucky and Steve consoled one another, as she showered them with confetti shaped like erect penises, at least she hadn’t told anyone else.

She had, though, arranged a _You Got Married Without Telling Us, You Assholes!_ party at Coney Island, which she booked out for their sole use. She made them wear tuxedos (even though they’d actually married in jeans and Henleys), and invited all of the Avengers, and their partners and close friends, and half of SHIELD and _their_ partners and close friends. It was quite a crowd. 

Her only concession to them was asking what flowers they wanted to decorate the place with. Now, everywhere they looked -- on food stands, on benches, along the boardwalk, and on the rides themselves -- there were arrangements of red and white roses, white heather, blue violets, lily of the valley, lavender, and baby’s breath. It was breathtaking.

Tony did his part by constantly plying Steve and Bucky with mimosas. 

“They won’t work on us,” they told him.

Tony just winked at them, grinned, and topped up their glasses.

Darcy kept hitting her glass with a spoon and standing really close while Bucky and Steve kissed. 

“Do you think she’s expecting us to actually, ya know, bone?” asked Steve, when he caught the dangerous glint in her eye. 

“Keep looking so sexy, and it might just happen,” replied Bucky, waggling his eyebrows at Steve. 

Jesus, what had Tony put in those mimosas?

The party ended when Steve took Bucky on the Cyclone, and Bucky discovered that yes, Tony really had put something in those mimosas. He stumbled away from the crowd to empty the contents of his stomach into a trash can, Steve laughing fit to burst a blood vessel behind him.

“See if you get any tonight,” Bucky moaned piteously.

“Aw, baby,” laughed Steve as he came up behind Bucky, rubbing his hand over Bucky’s hip, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better,” growled Bucky, wiping his mouth on the bouquet of flowers handily attached to the pole above the trash can. “These flowers say we’re together forever,” a grin spread over Bucky’s face as he continued, “and never to part.”

Steve blinked. Bucky barked out a laugh.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you just _Rickrolled_ me!” Steve shouted as Bucky laughed uncontrollably. “At our _wedding party_! You absolute _jerk_!”

Steve ripped the bouquet of flowers from the pole, and beat Bucky around the shoulders with it. Bucky just carried on laughing, and Steve couldn’t help but join in. It wasn’t long before they were clasping each other in a giggling, drunken heap on the ground, on top of a battered and very squashed bouquet.

Natasha uploaded video of the whole thing to the Avengers StarkSup group chat. It was epic.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky’s flowers for Howard and Maria Stark’s grave  
> Rose (tea) – I’ll always remember  
> Rose (dark crimson) – Mourning  
> Hyacinth (Purple) — I’m sorry; Please forgive me; Sorrow  
> Aloe — Grief  
> Rosemary — Remembrance
> 
> Bucky’s flowers for Tony  
> Hyacinth (Purple) — I’m sorry; Please forgive me; Sorrow  
> Sunflower – Loyalty; Wishes
> 
> Steve’s flowers for Bucky  
> Camellia — Admiration; Perfection; Good luck; Gift to man  
> Carnation (Red) – My heart aches for you; Admiration  
> Daisy — Innocence  
> Eucalyptus — Protection  
> Bay Leaf — Strength  
> Bird of Paradise — Magnificence  
> Borage — Courage  
> Hyacinth (Purple) — I’m sorry; Please forgive me; Sorrow  
> Sunflower – Loyalty; Wishes  
> Forget Me Not — True love; Memories  
> Fern — Sincerity  
> Rosebud (moss) – Confessions of love  
> Acacia — Secret Love  
> Anemone — Unfading Love  
> Rose (single, full bloom) – I love you; I still love you  
> Tulip (red) - Believe me; declaration of love  
> Gladiolus — Love at first sight  
> Rose (pink) – Perfect happiness; please believe me  
> Violet (blue) – Watchfulness; Faithfulness; I’ll always be true  
> Pine – Hope; Pity  
> Spiderflower – Elope with me  
> Stephanotis – Happiness in marriage; Desire to travel  
> Violet (white) – Let’s take a chance on happiness  
> Viscaria - Will you dance with me?
> 
> Bucky’s flowers for Steve  
> Carnation (Striped) – No; Refusal; Sorry I can’t be with you; Wish I could be with you  
> Carnation (Yellow) – Rejection; Disdain  
> Petunia – Resentment; Anger; Your presence soothes me  
> Ambrosia — Love returned  
> Jonquil — Love me; Affection returned; Desire; Sympathy; Desire for a return of affection  
> Rose (general)(Red) – Love; I love you  
> Carnation (Solid Color) – Yes 
> 
> Bucky’s flowers for Peggy’s grave  
> Roses (bouquet of full blooms) – Gratitude
> 
> Bucky and Steve’s wedding flowers  
> Baby’s Breath — Everlasting love  
> Heather (White) — Protection; Wishes will come true  
> Lily of the valley - Sweetness; Return to happiness; Humility  
> Lavender — Devotion  
> Roses (red and white) – Together; Unity  
> Violet (blue) – Watchfulness; Faithfulness; I’ll always be true


End file.
